


Cold Reality

by Elya_Rho



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-06-27 13:22:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15686265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elya_Rho/pseuds/Elya_Rho
Summary: Sam has a difficult time discerning what is real when an enemy from the past shows up unexpectedly.





	Cold Reality

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Nothing from Supernatural belongs to me.  
> Notes: This takes place in season 7, when Sam is hallucinating Lucifer (and all the nastiness that goes with it). It's not overly graphic, but it isn't a happy little fic. Also, there are spoilers from seasons 3 and 7.  
> Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy!

 

"Good job, Sammy-boy," Lucifer grinned. "Losing the car like that . . . great way to show Dean you haven't completely lost your marbles. Are you sure you even drove here?"

Sam gritted his teeth, doing his best to ignore the devil at his shoulder. It was almost constant now - the voice at his shoulder that only he could hear; the never-ending torrent of inane conversation punctuated by moments of hallucinations so vivid they left him breathless.

He pressed his right thumb into the scar on his left hand, digging in until the rush of pain caused Lucifer to flicker and vanish.

Only then did he let himself sigh.

The devil might have been a hallucination, but he wasn't wrong about one thing - the beat up old Ford that Sam had left safely tucked in the library parking lot was definitely gone.

That meant that it had either been towed or stolen, and Sam sighed again at the thought that out of all the cars that had been in the lot when he arrived, someone had chosen to take his already-stolen vehicle.

Despite not being overly late, thanks to the onset of winter, darkness had fallen while Sam had been researching, and most of the library patrons had already left for the night.

A light snow fell softly into the nearly abandoned lot giving an aura of mysterious stillness to the lonely setting. There was already a thin layer of dirty snow covering the pavement, contrasting with the bright white flakes that drifted down to land on top of it.

"I hate snow," Lucifer whined, his voice startling Sam as the hallucination popped back into existence.

Taking a deep breath, Sam shoved his hands into his pockets and tried not to think about the fact that the hand trick had only banished his tormentor for less than a minute.

It was getting worse.

As much as Sam wanted to think he had a handle on it, the fact that the devil was becoming more difficult to banish was more than ample proof that he was losing the battle.

Sam didn't want to think about his fracturing mental state. There was nothing he could really do about it except obsess over his shattering reality, and that was less than helpful. Certainly, in his current situation it would do him no good.

It was a long walk back to the motel and he was already going to get an earful from Dean about losing their latest car. He could already picture the expressions that would cross his brother's face when Sam told him. Disappointment, distress, worry, guilt, _pity_.

Pity for poor Sammy, who was losing his mind and couldn't remember where he'd parked the car.

He knew it wasn't a fair assessment. Dean had been supportive almost to the point of smothering, and Sam had been moderately surprised when his older brother had acquiesced to Sam's library trip without argument. Dean rarely let Sam out of his sight these days.

And really, given the fact that he'd lost the car, it wasn't hard to see why.

Sam sighed.

The motel wasn't getting any closer.

The young hunter strode off to the far end of the parking lot, fruitlessly hoping that Satan would be unable to keep up.

"Really," the voice continued, its owner keeping pace with an ease that irritated Sam, "why don't you and Dean ever hunt someplace _warm_ in March? Why did you pick _Pennsylvania_? C'mon, Sam! Isn't there something in Arizona you can hunt? Better yet, how about California?"

Lucifer trotted along, pulling up beside Sam so the hunter couldn't help but see him out of the corner of his eye.

_Fantastic._

Sam turned his attention back to the weather. Anything was better than acknowledging his unwelcome shadow. The snow looked like it was falling faster now, the flakes large and clumping together as they careened from the sky and wetted Sam's hair. It had been a mild winter so far, but this snowfall would probably end up sticking.

Maybe he should call Dean. He could let his brother know he was going to be late while discreetly asking if he'd taken the car in the first place. It wouldn't be the first time he'd ended up somewhere without any memory of how he'd gotten there. Maybe Dean had dropped him off? Was he supposed to call for a ride?

Even as the thoughts crossed his mind, Sam discounted them. He was sure he had driven himself.

 _Pretty_ sure, anyway.

He should probably call, though. Dean would get worried.

"Weird that it's so quiet, isn't it?" Lucifer asked loudly. "Where did all the people go? It's not even 7pm yet and this place is deader than a cemetery. Hey! Is that your car?"

In spite of himself, Sam found himself glancing to where the devil was pointing.

It was. Sam came to a stop as he regarded the car uncertainly. The rusty dark-blue Ford was parked in the back corner of the lot, nearly hidden under the canopy of skeletal tree branches that reached over it possessively. The snow had barely touched the vehicle, sheltered as it was from the elements.

There it was.

Waiting.

It made him uneasy.

He shifted his stance slightly, the light snow crunching under his feet.

"I didn't park there," he muttered to himself.

"Are you sure, Sammy?" Lucifer moved to put his arm around Sam's shoulders, but Sam stepped aside with a barely-suppressed shudder. "'Cause the car is right there."

The devil shrugged, a half-smile crossing his features. "Of course, it might not be there at all. Maybe you're not in some frigid hell-hole staring at a car. Maybe you're in an _actual_ Hell staring at . . . _nothing_."

Sam's jaw clenched and he strode forward, purposefully driving his thumb into his palm once again. He didn't bother to check if Lucifer had vanished. The trick would buy him only a short reprieve, but it would hopefully be enough to collect his thoughts. He reached out, yanking the door open and climbing inside, wishing not for the first time that he was driving the Impala. At least in his brother's car he could fit inside without bending like a pretzel.

Sam took a deep breath and let it out slowly, watching the air fog in front of him as he exhaled.

Lucifer gave a small laugh as he appeared in the passenger seat. "You are all kinds of messed up, Sammy boy. So paranoid! I can't believe it took you so long just to get in the car."

No reprieve, then.

It figured.

The hunter had to bite his cheek to keep from responding to the hallucination, but Lucifer didn't seem to require his participation.

"By the way, you are so crappy at this," the devil said, stifling a fake yawn. "You didn't even check the back seat."

The coldness that suddenly ran down his spine galvanized Sam and, despite his earlier intentions to ignore the devil, he instinctively moved to look behind him.

It was too late.

A strong hand reached out of the shadows, clamping over his mouth and pressing his head back against the headrest. Sam was already reaching up to pry the iron grip away when he recognized the sickly-sweet smell of chloroform and a jolt of panic ran through him.

The hands were large, definitely male, and stronger than a typical human. This wasn't an average car-jacking.

"Oh, this is a twist, isn't it?" Lucifer grinned. "And to think you were worried about where you parked! By the way, you totally parked here."

Sam wrenched his attacker's left hand back, snapping a finger with an audible crack. The figure in the back seat never made a sound, instead pressing the cloth harder against Sam's face with his right hand and grabbing the hunter's neck with his left, squeezing as Sam struggled to free himself.

The chloroform wasn't going to be a problem if Sam couldn't breathe at all, and the hunter was already seeing dark spots at the corners of his vision.

He fought, but there was no space to lash out in the confined cabin of the car, and his legs were hampered by the steering wheel. In desperation, he reached out with his left hand, hitting the car horn in the hope that his attacker would flee in the face of possible discovery.

The figure simply changed his grip, shoving forward with such speed and ferocity that Sam had no time to react before his head was slammed into the steering wheel. The horn stopped as his hand drew up in an attempt to shield himself from the next impact, which left him dazed.

"That had to hurt!" Lucifer announced in mock-sympathy as Sam's forehead impacted the wheel yet again.

His vision swam and Sam felt his strength waning. The attacker gripped his hair tightly, tossing the chloroform aside as he focused on battering Sam into unconsciousness instead.

The devil's gleeful grin was the last thing Sam saw before the final blow stole his awareness entirely.

____________________________________________________________

 

The first thing Sam was aware of was pain.

His head throbbed sickeningly and he tried not to move against the nausea that rose within him.

Somehow he knew even before he tried to draw his hand up to his pounding head that he wouldn't be able to. A light tug proved him right as the hunter heard the tell-tale rattle of chains pinning his limbs down. It shouldn't have been such a familiar situation, but it was, and Sam cursed under his breath.

He peeled open his eyes, trying to make out what kind of trouble he'd found himself in this time, but the even the dim lighting stabbed into him. It took several attempts to clear his vision, and when Sam could see relatively clearly, he wasn't comforted by his surroundings.

He was in a basement of some kind. Aged wood hung haphazardly from the walls, which were lined with kerosene lanterns looped over metal hooks. It wasn't a huge room, maybe 20 feet square, with only one entrance visible from Sam's position.

And his position was not a good one.

He was on his back, tied to a table.

Again.

Straining to raise his aching head, Sam grimaced at the sight of his pinned body. His coat had been removed and a thick leather band was tightened across his chest to keep him down. His wrists were trapped in leather straps which were in turn attached to the table with the chains he'd heard earlier. He couldn't get a clear look at his feet, but from the sound of things, they were similarly chained in place.

A small table was set up beside him on his right with a lantern and several ancient-looking sharp implements laid out directly in his line of vision.

It was a fear-inducing tactic with which Sam was intimately familiar.

Someone had tied him down and they wanted him afraid.

All in all, things were not looking good.

"Welcome back, Sammy!" Lucifer chirped happily from beside his head and Sam's jerked sideways in alarm. "How do you like the new digs? Remind you of anyplace?"

"This isn't real," Sam muttered, almost _relieved_ at the thought that this was just some new horror thought up for him by his tormentor. "I just need to snap out of it and I'll be back where I was."

"You mean back in the cage, right?" the devil asked, his face coming into view as he peered down at the trapped hunter. "That's where you _were_ , it's where you _are_ , and it's where you're gonna _stay_. I've been telling you that, Sam. For a smart guy, you're kind of slow on the uptake."

"Wake up," Sam urged himself, squeezing his eyes shut to block out Lucifer's cold smile. He tugged on his restraints, trying to loosen the bonds around his hands so he could break himself out of what would undoubtedly be a highly unpleasant hallucination. " _Wake up!_ "

"You are awake."

Sam ignored Lucifer and pulled harder, the chains clinking against the wood as he struggled to free himself.

A creak from above had Sam's immediate attention and he stilled his movements.

_Footsteps._

He wasn't alone.

Lucifer skipped from his place by Sam's head to the doorway across from him. He rubbed his hands together in anticipation. "I wonder who that could be? Have you guessed yet?"

Sam swallowed dryly, his heart pounding in his chest.

What if it wasn't an illusion?

What if this was actually happening?

Was Dean even looking for him yet?

"I could use a little help here, Dean," Sam whispered. He wanted his brother to save him. He wanted Dean to swoop in and clear away the confusion - to free him if it were real, or to wake him from the nightmare if it proved to be all in his head. It was a weakness he shoved down. Until he knew what was going on, Sam couldn't afford to indulge in hope. He had to be strong.

The footsteps crossed the floor above him, stopping at the far wall where Sam could hear the rattling of heavy chains.

A locked door.

Fantastic.

He tried not to look at Lucifer as the devil grinned.

The creak that met his ears as the door was opened sounded more like a metal gate than a wooden door, a thought that was confirmed as a deep clank indicated the barrier had been slammed shut.

The chains sounded again, and Sam cursed as he realized that whoever was approaching was locking the gate behind him and blocking off Sam's only escape route.

Not that escape was looking very likely at the moment.

There was someone coming down the stairs.

Sam tried to calm his frantic heart. He clenched his fists and ground his fingertips into the scar tissue of his left palm in a last-ditch effort to break out of the illusion. It wasn't enough.

In spite of his best attempts to stay calm, his breath came in ragged gasps as a figure melted out of the shadows.

"Hello, Sammy. It's been awhile." The voice was low, unhurried in its delivery, secure in the knowledge that Sam was a captive audience.

Whatever his captor had been expecting, it likely wasn't Sam Winchester letting out a sharp laugh of relief and letting his head fall back to the table.

"This isn't real!" Sam smiled as he let himself sink back. It was definitely a hallucination. "None of this is real."

He shook his chains experimentally to see if they'd loosened at all now that he'd figured out for certain that they didn't exist. They held fast, but Sam didn't let it worry him. He'd be free soon.

"You weren't expecting to see me, I presume," the man said, stepping further into the light.

Time had not been kind to Doc Benton. The mad doctor had the same scarred and stitched features that Sam remembered from years prior, and the immortal was pale and drawn, limping on uneven legs as he approached his captive. He wore a long coat this time, instead of the leather apron Sam had last seen him in, but he was still dressed in ragged clothing, dulled from age and stained with unidentifiable substances. His eyes were different, one now a pale blue and the other a striking green, but they conveyed the same cold lack of empathy that Sam recalled with vivid clarity.

"Seeing as the last time I saw Benton, my brother and I were burying him alive . . . nope." Sam tried to shrug, looking past the doctor to the figure still lurking by the doorway. "He'd be worm food by now. Of all the people to torture me with, this one is pretty unbelievable. You're slipping."

"Oh, don't blame me for this," Lucifer protested. "It's _your_ memory. I like the guy, don't get me wrong, but if this were my creation, he'd already be starting in on the dismembering, with the bleeding and the screaming." The devil waved his hand toward the mad doctor. "He's old and moves too slow - spoils the _ambience_."

The doctor's white hair gleamed in the lantern light as he tilted his head. His eyes narrowed. "Who're you talking to, boy?"

"No one," Sam replied easily. "That's just it. This place isn't real. Benton isn't real."

The Benton hallucination blinked slowly, pursing his mangled lips. "Did you get hit on the head too hard?" His voice was the same slow drawl that had so unnerved Sam at their last meeting, but the low tone didn't inspire the same dread now.

Sam knew the truth.

Sam had the upper hand.

Or, he would, once he got out of the chains and back to the parking lot.

"It's a nice touch," he said calmly. "The new eyeballs, I mean. Adds authenticity."

Benton smiled tightly and tapped the side of his face with a sutured finger. "I've been through a few since we last met. Times have been _difficult_ for me."

"My heart breaks for you," Sam muttered.

"Not yet, but it will," Benton replied. "I was never a cruel man, Sam. I just lived a quiet life until you and your brother came and tore my _world down_."

The doctor spat the final words in a sudden venomous snarl as he leaned down over his prisoner.

Sam swallowed, nervous in spite of himself. He'd never wanted to be this close to the sadistic doctor ever again, hallucination or not. Some things, he'd prefer not to recall with perfect clarity.

He couldn't let himself get distracted. "You were killing people."

"All those people would have died anyway," Benton corrected. "Maybe not right away, but eventually. Their donations keep me alive; I'm the only one of my kind, Sammy. An endangered species."

He tilted his head again, the movement looking oddly reptilian as the immortal reached out to run his fingers along his surgical implements.

"I do what I have to do. A man can kill to preserve his own life and that is _precisely_ what I have done."

"That's great for you," Sam replied, "but I don't care, because you aren't real. You're dead and decaying in a hole. You're nothing now, just a corpse that finally figured out it was time to rot."

Benton slammed his fist down beside Sam's head, shaking the wood and causing the hunter to flinch back in instinctive shock.

The chains rattled as Sam tried to pull away from the sudden attack.

Benton's scarred finger waved at him as the doctor's face sneered. "You _will_ respect me, boy. I will not listen to you spout such filth. I am standing in front of you, as real as those chains around your wrists and you _mock_ me? You're either braver than you were last time, or you're a complete fool."

"Oh, now things are getting interesting!" Lucifer piped up. "For my part, I'm going with fool. You're pissing off the crazy man, Sammy. That's not exactly smart, is it?"

The doctor wasn't done. "You think I rotted? I wasn't even inside that box for a _week_. You had no sooner left town than I was back to my old ways."

Sam shook his head. "That's not possible."

Benton laughed, the discordant chuckle more unnerving than his anger had been. "Son, you and your brother didn't even stick around long enough to finish the job. That girl you stole from me, do you remember her?"

Sam didn't nod, but he remembered the girl - strapped to the table while the maggots in her arm feasted on the dead flesh from Benton's brutal surgery. He had saved her from that basement, fleeing the doctor's attack and spiriting her away to the safety of a nearby hospital.

"Did you think she wouldn't tell the police what had happened to her?" Benton asked, the half-smile still frozen on his face. "About the _madman_ in the woods? It wasn't long before they found the cabin. It wasn't long after _that_ when they noticed the distinctive signs of digging right outside the cabin. _Tsk tsk_ ," he patted Sam's shoulder, not caring when the hunter flinched away, "they thought it was where I buried my _victims._ "

"They dug you up?" Sam breathed, the thought sickening him.

"They surely did. They found my coffin, that icebox you locked me in, and they thought I was an experiment gone wrong. My heart wasn't pumping, thanks to your brother and his knife, so they took me to their morgue. All I had to do was stay still until I could escape. And escape I did."

Sam stared in horrified disbelief. It couldn't be possible . . . but they had left town so quickly afterwards . . .

But how long could Benton have lingered with a damaged heart? They'd never heard any reports that would have indicated the organ-snatching immortal had resumed his sadistic ways. In four years, there hadn't been so much as a peep . . . it couldn't be possible.

"Now, locked in that small, god-forsaken box, I had resigned myself to a slow and lingering demise, so you can imagine my delight at my good fortune." The doctor continued. "Providence smiled on me in more ways than one. I needed new organs to forestall my . . . inevitable decay, and the coroner's assistant was able to provide just what I required. It wasn't ideal, of course, but I made do."

"Do you honestly think I believe any of this?" Sam shook his head in denial. "You just spent a couple of days in the box and then went back to your old tricks? You're insane."

"I'm not the one talking to shadows in the corner," Benton pointed out easily. "But that's not the point. The _point_ is that you took something from me, something irreplaceable, and I can never get it back."

Sam's brow furrowed as he tried to think back to that night . . .

"My research," Benton hissed, his eyes flashing in barely-suppressed rage. "Two centuries of experiments, failures, successes . . . all _gone_ because of two hunters with hero complexes."

"We didn't take your journal," Sam protested in confusion. "We left it-"

"On my _grave_. In the dirt and the rainwater, and what exactly do you think happens to old paper in a muddy waterhole?" He didn't wait for a reply. "It rotted away. It turned to soup and pulp not two feet over my head. My life's work, countless hours of tireless toil and it can never be replaced. I remember my formula, but there was so much more in there. _So much more_ . . ."

The immortal reached into the pocket of his jacket, pulling out a leather book cover. He slammed it onto the table beside Sam's head. From so close, Sam could easily see the toll that the elements had taken on the ancient pages. What hadn't rotted in the water had crumbled as it dried leaving only the shrivelling cover as proof that it had once been a book.

"So . . . all this is over a book?" Sam forced himself to look up at the doctor, meeting the cold eyes evenly. "It's been years -"

"And I've wanted revenge for years," Benton confirmed. "I never thought I'd ever get the chance, but then there you boys were - right _smack dab_ in my new town looking into suspicious disappearances and never once thinking it might be me. I learned from last time, you see. No more survivors. No more trail leading back to me. I take what I need and destroy the rest. You hunters made me the monster you always thought I was."

"We didn't make you do anything," Sam countered. "You've been killing for two hundred years, so don't pretend you were some kind of saint before you met us."

"Be that as it may, our encounter changed me. All I had left was the anger and I knew just who was responsible for it. I must confess, the thought of killing your brother _sustained_ me through some very trying times. I spent hours devising ways of making him feel the depth of the loss he inflicted upon me."

Sam blinked. "Dean? What-"

Benton reached out again, this time patting Sam on the arm in an almost comforting fashion. "Who was it who refused to listen to reason? Who decided to lock me in that box and bury me alive? Who was it who wanted nothing to do with my research - who tossed it in that hole so he wouldn't be tempted? I don't think it was you, Sammy. Was it?"

Lucifer leaned against the wall behind the doctor. "Forget what I said earlier about this guy being slow. There's something to be said for drawing things out. You met this weirdo and _didn't_ want to kill him? That's pretty messed up, Sam, even for you."

"You would have listened. You wanted to learn, I could see it in your eyes; you were almost desperate for the chance. You wouldn't have killed me." Benton leaned down, his mouth so close to Sam's ear the hunter could feel the foetid breath as the doctor whispered. "I would have told you my secrets, Sammy. I would have taught you all of it. You could have been my protégé, someone to talk to, someone who understood that being this way isn't a curse, but a blessing."

Sam shivered, hating how close the man was to him - hating that he wasn't waking up.

Hating that once again a monster felt a connection to him.

"Of course, big brother Dean wouldn't abide that, would he? No, sir. Not _his_ brother. And you followed his lead like a trusting fool. He destroyed my research - everything I sacrificed for. So _I_ am going to destroy everything _he_ sacrificed for."

Benton reached toward the table, taking his time as his fingers played over the implements lined up on the surface. "I'm going to kill you, Sammy. I'm going to harvest every last organ out of you and when I'm looking at the world through your eyes, I'll lead your brother back here. He'll swoop in like an avenging angel, but he'll be too late."

"I don't think he knows much about angels," Lucifer critiqued with a grimace.

"The last thing he'll see before I end him will be your shattered corpse ripped open on this table. The last thing he'll know is that I will live because your heart beats inside me. He'll look into your eyes as I stare back at him and the last thing he'll feel will be the failure of knowing that you died because of his actions, because of _him_. And you'll die horribly, I promise."

He picked up a scalpel, his gaze even and devoid of any sign of humanity. "You can scream if you like, or even beg. It won't help; there's no one to hear you."

"I'll scream," Sam said, trying to keep his voice steady. "I always end up screaming and if you think I'm ashamed of that, you're wrong. Nothing you do to me here will be worse than what you did to me in the cage. So go ahead. Cut me open, rip me apart, but don't think that putting the scene in a new house changes the fact that this is the same game you always play."

"Defiance! I like it!" Lucifer crowed. "Only, it isn't me."

Benton had paused, though, staring down at Sam in undisguised confusion. "What is wrong with you, boy?"

"This isn't my first time," Sam answered with a forced smile. "You're going to hurt me and I can't stop you. Been there, done that. I don't care anymore. The sooner you get started, the sooner I'll wake up."

"You've actually gone mad, haven't you?" Benton tapped his finger on the scalpel, regarding Sam with calculating eyes. "All this isn't an act."

Sam didn't answer.

"Well, this isn't exactly how I pictured this going," the doctor admitted. "I suppose you think your brother will know you faced death with a brave face, but I'm going to tell him you begged one way or the other."

Benton set the scalpel against Sam's chest, the cold metal barely registering as the trapped hunter looked up at his would-be killer.

The doctor hesitated, lifting the blade slightly. "You can't even comprehend what's happening, can you? Your fear - your _pain_ \- is part of your brother's punishment. It's hardly satisfying if you can't even _realize_ that you're about to die. Maybe it's time to change things up a little."

Lucifer nodded in agreement, moving to look over Benton's shoulder. "Variety is the spice of life."

"You're not afraid for yourself. How about for your brother? Would you fear for his safety, I wonder?"

"Please, they're so obsessed with keeping each other alive, it's almost nauseating," the devil chimed in.

Benton pursed his lips, running his tongue along the jagged flesh in a contemplative gesture. "Maybe I should start with Dean. Would watching him die crack your resolve? Would you feel something then? I could see how long I can keep you two alive - harvesting you both piece by piece until there's nothing left of either of you. How does that sound?"

"It sounds like you're just another crazy butcher in a long line of crazy butchers," Sam spat. "Go ahead. Call Dean. Hallucination or not, he'll make sure you die this time. You'll be the one screaming; how's that for a promise?"

Anger flashed in Benton's eyes and he lunged forward in fury.

The scalpel drove into the flesh of Sam's forearm with such suddenness the pain didn't even register right away.

The doctor glowered down at the hunter. "I warned you about _mocking_ me!"

A wave of burning pain shot up Sam's arm as he stared in shock at the blade impaling his flesh.

"Well, crap," Lucifer muttered as he blinked out of existence.

Sam thrashed in his restraints, fruitlessly trying to dislodge the scalpel. Nausea rose within him as he took in Doc Benton's leering face.

The pain didn't lie.

This was real.

"No," Sam breathed in horror. "This can't be real. How can this be real?"

Benton sighed deeply and pulled the scalpel out, sending a rush of blood running from the wound. "Now, look at what you made me do. I dislike losing control like that, I really do."

Sam choked off a cry at the sickening sensation. He clenched his fists uselessly, his body instinctively trying to get away from the agony even as his mind sought more.

The pain was real. It was different from Hell. It would help him focus.

His own disbelief had been the illusion and now the madman who had him would use him to kill Dean.

He couldn't allow it to happen.

"It isn't too late," he panted, trying to regain his composure. "You can let me go."

"Now I know you've truly lost your mind, Sammy," Benton laughed, the sound like dry bones crumbling under pressure. "Time to be quiet now, though. I have a phone call to make."

The doctor grabbed a dirty rag.

Sam tensed, knowing full well Benton's intentions, and he turned away with his jaw clamped firmly shut.

The immortal simply grabbed the hunter's head, pinning it to the table as he tried to shove the rag into Sam's mouth. Sam fought, but in the end, all Benton had to do was pinch his nose and wait for the trapped man to grow desperate for air.

As Sam opened his mouth to gasp, Benton jammed the rag in. Before Sam could push it out, the doctor grabbed a length of bandage and used it to tie the gag in place.

Sam glared helplessly as Benton patted him on the head again.

"That's better, isn't it? You'll have an opportunity to scream later, I promise, but right now, I need to talk to big brother."

The doctor leaned down and picked up Sam's coat from where it had apparently been dropped. He fished through the pockets until he came up with Sam's phone, waving it at the trapped hunter.

"I've never had much call for these myself," he admitted. "The technology is impressive, though."

He stared intently at the device, the soft glow illuminating his scarred features. "Apparently, you have missed seven calls from Dean. That's encouraging; he'll already be worried. Now, how do I make this work?"

Sam would have snorted in derision if he weren't focusing on not throwing up from the taste of the rag in his mouth. His arm throbbed with every heartbeat and the only good thing from the injury was that he could finally keep at least one monster at bay. Lucifer wouldn't appear as long as Sam could focus on what was real.

It was then that he heard it.

The noise was faint, almost inaudible, but Sam noticed the second the floorboard above him creaked. His eyes widened and he glanced to Benton, who was thankfully still engrossed in trying to figure out how to unlock Sam's phone.

It had to be Dean.

His brother had called him seven times. When he got no reply, the older Winchester would have simply tracked Sam's phone, following the signal wherever it would lead him.

And it would have led him to Doc Benton's latest murder house.

The element of surprise was all they had going for them and Sam needed to do his part to cover Dean's approach.

He yelled behind his gag, as much to warn Dean of his presence as to distract Benton. He pulled on his chains, rattling them as loudly as he could. Raising his head, he glared at his captor and tried to put as much defiance into his expression as possible.

Benton looked up with annoyance. "I told you, Sammy, I'll take it out later. I promise that you and your brother will be able to hear each other's screams in perfect clarity before you die. A little patience, please."

Sam continued to shout, the muffled sounds frustrating him. Benton put down the phone and walked over to stand beside the young hunter.

"This is a little much, isn't it?" the immortal scolded. "You weren't this loud last time-"

The sound of chains drew the doctor's attention and Sam cursed through his gag. Dean's approach, while nearly silent, had been foiled by the chains on the basement door.

"I think big brother is here," Benton smiled. He reached over to the table by Sam's head and picked up a wicked-looking blade. "Let's give him a proper welcome, shall we?"

Sam screamed a warning, putting as much volume as he could muster into the cry.

"Enough!" Benton spat, grabbing Sam by the throat and squeezing. "I have waited too long for this to have it spoiled by you!"

Sam tried to kick out as his breath was once again stolen from him, but he could do nothing more than thrash in his bonds. The pressure of Benton's hand was unyielding, and Sam felt himself weakening.

Just when he thought he would pass out, the doctor released him, drifting silently away from the desperately panting man.

He couldn't gasp for air through the gag, and Sam could scarcely get enough through his nose to feed his oxygen-starved body or to dispel the black dots swimming in his vision.

He almost missed Dean's arrival.

His brother appeared at the bottom of the stairs, the shadows doing nothing to hide his identity from Sam's blurred gaze. Dean carried a gun, the glint of metal visible in the lantern-light, but it was a weapon that would have no effect on the immortal killer lurking in the darkness.

There was no time to give a warning as Benton lunged at the elder Winchester, the blade held in a tight grip as it rapidly descended toward the hunter.

Dean let out a curse, but he was already moving. His gun was up and firing, the shots piercingly loud in the confined space. With his left arm, he snapped forward and hit Benton's arm, deflecting the knife just before it would have sliced into him.

The gun clicked empty and Benton was still standing.

Sam's vision was clearing and he could see the exact moment that Dean realized exactly who he was facing.

"Well, look who climbed out of his box!" Dean exclaimed with false cheer, putting some distance between himself and the mad doctor. "If I'd known this was going to be a reunion, I'd have brought a pie."

"You Winchesters and your smart mouths," Benton hissed. "The only sounds you'll be making will be as you beg for your lives."

"Brave words," Dean smirked, looking for all the world as though he were unconcerned with the situation. "I seem to recall you doing a bit of begging yourself last time we were together."

Benton gave a huff that might have been laughter or derision, but didn't reply. The doctor simply shrugged and put his hands into his coat pockets with a nonchalance that had Sam instantly worried.

The elder Winchester tensed as he circled closer to his trapped sibling, never once taking his eyes of the undead abomination in front of him.

"Gotta say, you seem to have an unhealthy fixation on my brother. Word to the wise, if you have to tie them down, it's not going to work out. He's just not into dead dudes."

Benton sighed and tilted his head. "Such a lack of respect."

If Sam hadn't already been worried, the tone of the doctor's voice would have set off all his alarm bells. He sent an anxious glance to Dean.

Of course, Dean would never take his opponent lightly, but the hunter was out of bullets and nothing on his person would have much of an effect on someone like Benton.

"You haven't really done anything to earn respect now, have you?" Dean replied. He reached out with his left hand and felt along Sam's right arm to find the restraint, still keeping his full attention on Benton.

Sam winced as Dean's fingers ghosted over his stab wound, but he kept quiet, not wanting to distract the older man. Nevertheless, he could tell when Dean realized that the warm wetness on his arm was blood. The tension rose in his brother's frame, cold fury replacing his usual cocky confidence.

Benton only smiled. "Force is the only thing men like you respect. Intimidation and bravado. I've learned so much from my studies."

The doctor reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a gun, aiming it calmly at Dean. It took only a second for the younger Winchester to note that it was not just any gun - it was Sam's. His heart skipped a beat as he realized Benton must have found his gun and was now using it against his brother.

He gave a cry of alarm almost before he realized that he'd made a sound and Dean's hand tightened briefly around his wrist.

"You gonna shoot me?" Dean asked, a hint of disdain in his voice. He was clearly trying to keep Benton's attention on his words while he tried to free his sibling. "You go through all this trouble to grab my brother and you're just going to end it like this? I would've thought you had some elaborate plan for revenge or something."

While he spoke, Dean's left hand slowly worked to undo the strap that held Sam's right arm pinned, pulling the end of the leather from the loop.

"Oh, I think I can manage to hit you without killing you," Benton mused.

That was all the warning Dean got before Benton pulled the trigger.

Sam was screaming through his gag, but Dean was already in motion. The elder hunter pushed himself away from his trapped brother, lunging to the side with almost inhuman speed.

It wasn't fast enough.

Sam thrashed madly in his restraints as he heard his brother grunt in sudden pain. He twisted his right hand viciously, trying to grasp the loosened strip of leather so he could pull the prong free.

He watched Dean out of the corner of his eye as the other man squared off against his suddenly-armed opponent. Blood trickled from a graze on Dean's left arm, but the hunter was paying no attention to what had to have been a painful injury.

"First blood," Benton intoned slowly. "I've waited so long to make you bleed, boy."

"I think you need a hobby," Dean retorted. He burst into movement then, relying on speed and surprise against Benton's use of an unfamiliar weapon. He closed the distance between them, throwing out an arm to deflect the gun even as he levelled a punch at Benton's face. A shot rang out as Benton's finger tightened reflexively on the trigger. The impact was somewhere off to the side, and as long as it wasn't near his brother, Sam didn't care where it hit.

The momentum of Dean's attack threw both men away from Sam's table, slamming the doctor into the wall where Dean aimed a brutal knee into Benton's stomach.

Dean's left hand held fast to the immortal's gun hand, twisting the older man's arm until he could no longer maintain his grip. The gun fell to the floor with a thump, and Dean moved quickly to kick it aside.

There was a sickening cracking sound, but Sam only managed a breath when he realized that Dean had made no cry of pain.

"You still don't understand what it means to be me, do you?" Benton mocked. His right arm hung awkwardly to his side, but there were no signs of pain on his features. Instead, he grabbed Dean's neck with his left hand and flung the hunter back with an inhuman strength.

Sam couldn't help but call out as his brother hit the far wall with bone-jarring force. He renewed his efforts to free his hand, pulling fiercely against his bonds. He could feel his thumb constricting inwards as he tried to wrench his way loose.

Benton smiled at the younger Winchester as he crossed the room. With another wince-inducing sound, the organ-harvester reset his dislocated arm and rotated it experimentally.

"You can't kill me," Benton said as he reached down and grabbed Dean by the collar. He pulled the hunter to his feet and Sam could tell from the grimace on his face that the last impact had rung his brother's bell. "I think you need to take a little nap, boy, and when you wake up, you'll be a little easier to handle."

The doctor shifted his grip, moving to squeeze Dean's throat, and _when the hell did_ _Benton_ _become so keen on strangling everybody?_

Dean fought back with heavy fists, but the blows rained off the immortal with no more effect than if he had been using a feather duster.

It was enough to make Sam swear colourfully into his gag, but it gave him no relief. Benton was going to kill his brother right in front of him and he needed to get -

 _Free_!

Sam's hand slipped suddenly from the cuff and he scrambled into motion, trying to find the buckle for the strap across his chest.

Beside him, Dean's struggles were slowing and Sam cursed again. Benton never relented his iron grip, instead choosing to mutter soothing sounds as Dean slowly succumbed to unconsciousness.

Sam was out of time. With desperation, he looked for anything he could use as a weapon. The small table by his head held small knives and implements of torture, but he would never cut himself free or get close enough to Benton in time to use them.

His gaze fell on the kerosene lantern.

It was risky and would potentially hurt Dean, too, but there was no other option.

With a muffled shout of warning to his brother, Sam gripped the lantern and flung it as hard as he could at Benton's back.

The glass burst on contact, sending a spray of oil over the doctor's coat, which caught fire almost immediately.

Benton let out a cry of surprise, releasing his grip on Dean, who sagged against the wall and gasped for breath.

The fire spread with alarming speed, catching the doctor's hair and igniting it in a flaming halo. Benton's face filled with terror as the blaze spread, and he pulled at his coat in an attempt to free himself from the conflagration that was consuming him.

Sam could only watch in horror as the flailing man started to scream and his clothes ignited, the sickening smell of burning flesh filling the air. Sam fought against the urge to vomit as the heat of the fire reached him. The sensation of flames on his skin was far too familiar to ignore; the sound of the screams an intimate memory from which he could never be free.

Somehow, the screams became his own as fire became his entire world. He couldn't feel the straps on his limbs, or bring himself to close his eyes against the intensity of the flames. There was only fire, and pain, and cutting, and screaming, and -

"Sam!"

The gag he had long since forgotten about was being pulled from his mouth and his brother's hands were on his face, pulling his gaze away from the still-thrashing doctor.

"Sammy, stay with me!" Dean commanded, his voice harsh from the abuse it had just suffered.

Sam took a shuddering breath and gagged on the smell of Benton's burning body. He heaved violently, but nothing came out.

"You're okay, Sammy! Just hang on!" Dean's hands were on him now, pulling at the straps, undoing buckles and finally pulling Sam up to a sitting position. "We're getting out of here. It's gonna be fine."

It was only then that Sam realized the reason for Dean's frantic movements. Benton was now lying against the wall, still twitching weakly as his body was completely engulfed in flames. But the fire was spreading.

The conflagration was hungrily devouring the dried wooden walls, which were going up like tinder. The lanterns hanging from their hooks had already succumbed to the blaze, the glass breaking and sending more oil spilling to the floor, spreading the fire faster. The ceiling was burning - fire all around them. The room was becoming an inferno, and if they didn't get out soon -

"Almost out, buddy," Dean promised. The other man moved to unbuckle Sam's feet, and Sam couldn't help but try to pull free as panic rose in him.

He couldn't burn again. He couldn't face the fire again and Lucifer's laughter as he gave in to his pain and terror. Trapped, helpless, _alone_ -

"Sam!" Dean's voice cut through again, and Sam instinctively drew up his left hand. He pressed his fingers into the scar with merciless force, but reality didn't flicker back into existence.

Thick smoke filled the room and Dean was already coughing as he grabbed his brother and pulled him roughly from the table.

Sam found himself standing on shaky legs with Dean's iron grip on his arm as he was propelled towards the staircase, which was already filling with toxic black smoke.

Dean guided him forward, shoving him into the passage with a hand on his back. Sam was relieved when Dean's hand fisted into his shirt, never relinquishing contact even as he pushed his sibling toward freedom.

Sam pushed at the iron bars of the gate, cursing when the door wouldn't open, but Dean just reached past him and pulled it open easily as he manoeuvred Sam around it. In any other circumstances, Sam would have been embarrassed, but with the cabin burning around him, he could only muster a desperate, frantic need to escape.

The room was completely filled with smoke and Sam had no idea where the door was. He brought up his arm to cover his mouth, coughing harshly in the overheated air.

Dean pulled at him again, and Sam allowed himself to be guided. His shin hit something unidentifiable in the darkness, but Dean kept leading him, undaunted, until they reached the door.

Without wasting a moment, Dean wrenched it open and dragged Sam outside.

The air was freezing cold compared to the intense heat of the cabin and it bit into Sam's skin immediately. He still couldn't draw a proper breath and his eyes stung from the acrid smoke.

Looking over his shoulder, Sam's eyes widened as he took in the destruction. Nothing would survive the fire, of that he was certain. Flames licked the sky, the smoke and fire contrasting starkly against the lightly falling flakes of snow.

The roar of the inferno drowned out everything else until even it was no longer audible. The world was horrifyingly silent.

It was only when Dean moved between him and the burning cabin that Sam realized he had fallen to his knees at some point.

Dean was talking, his mouth moving quickly as he gripped Sam's shoulders firmly.

Sam blinked slowly, focusing on his brother, trying to wake up . . .

"Sammy! C'mon, man, you're scaring me here!"

Dean's face was coated with grime and soot, his eyes red, irritated, and watering from their narrow escape.

It was as though someone pushed play on a paused movie when suddenly the world came into focus once more. Dean's harsh breaths, the crackle of fire as it destroyed the wooden cabin, the crinkles of worry at the corners of Dean's eyes, the stinging pain in his own head and arm . . .

Sam stared at his brother in mute shock, barely able to comprehend what had just happened.

"Dean?"

His brother let out a strangled cough, pulling him into a tight embrace, which Sam found himself returning with an almost desperate ferocity.

"You're okay, Sam. It's okay. Just stay with me, all right?"

Sam nodded silently into Dean's shoulder and clung to him fiercely.

He didn't know how long they sat like that before Dean pried himself away and looked back to the cabin. "I don't think Benton is getting out of that," he observed. He kept one hand on Sam's shoulder, grounding his brother in the here and now, and Sam hated how it was only that contact that was keeping him from slipping into somewhere he didn't want to go.

"We're pretty far out. I don't think anyone will notice the fire in the off-season, but it's better not to take the chance. I parked not too far from here. Bit of a walk, but I couldn't risk getting too close, you know?"

Sam nodded, not really certain if Dean needed a reply. He shivered in the night air, shaking from more than just the cold. Dean must have noticed, because his brother shrugged out of his jacket and wrapped it around Sam's shoulders. It didn't help, not really, but Sam pulled it close anyway.

"I'll come back later to make sure Benton didn't make it out," the elder Winchester promised. "No mistakes this time."

Benton was really the least of his worries, but Sam nodded again anyway.

"Well, I must say, I'm a little disappointed in how things turned out," Lucifer's voice suddenly cut in and Sam couldn't hide the wince that crossed his features.

"Sam?" Dean questioned.

Clenching his fists in his borrowed jacket, Sam tried to drown out the devil's words. "You were doing so well, Sammy. Damsel-in-distress and all that. You were just getting to the good part where you would have screamed so prettily."

Looking to the side, he saw the devil leaning against a tree stump, studiously fixing marshmallows to the end of a stick.

Lucifer didn't even look up before continuing. "Remember when we did this before, but you were the marshmallow? Good times."

"Dean," Sam breathed, clutching at his brother's arm. "I don't know what's real."

It was all he needed to say before Dean was pulling him to his feet. "Oh, hell no. You don't need this crap right now, Sammy."

Dean gripped Sam's left hand tightly and squeezed the scar. "I'm real, okay? You're out of the fire, Lucifer isn't there, and you're okay. You're _fine_. Just focus on me, okay?"

Lucifer flickered and vanished.

Sam just wanted to cry.

"You good?"

He was exhausted, his arm hurt, his head was throbbing, he was going crazy, and had almost been murdered by a crazy monster from his past. He was pin-wheeling between reality and hallucination in a frigid forest with a burning cabin behind him and a worried brother in front of him.

He was so far from good it was almost laughable, but he found himself nodding.

"I'm good. I'm good."

And he let Dean lead him to the safety of the Impala.

 

-The End-

 

 

 

 


End file.
